Seven Daze (23 page)

“How much do you want to borrow?”

Jim noticed the word “want” was emphasised, not “need”. Ideally he’d have said ten grand, but he had to be realistic. The sign on the door said, “Borrow five to five thousand pounds”. “Subject to Status”, the small print added.

“Three thousand, please.”

The man nodded, his well trained eyes giving nothing away. Returning to his screen, he tapped a few keys on his keyboard.

“Purpose of loan?” He continued to stare at his screen.

To carry on living he wanted to answer. “Buying a car. It’s a small garage, cash only, you know.” He knew how dodgy that sounded, but Philip nodded. He’d probably heard worse excuses. “It’s a bit of a rush. My girlfriend’s fallen in love with the car, you see. All my cash is locked into I-sa’s.” He’d never heard the word ISA said before, and noticed Philip’s look when he said it. It was obviously pronounced differently.

“How soon would you be able to repay it?”

Jim looked at the ceiling pretending to work out the answer. “Um, well it takes three or four days to transfer the money, so I suppose a round week would make it easy.”

Philip nodded. “We could make it over a longer term if that would help?” Jim reckoned that at the annual rate they charged they’d like nothing more than for him to take longer repaying it.

“Well, I’ve got the money here. It’s just a timing thing, isn’t it?” Jim pulled the ISA statement from his pile of paperwork and handed it to Philip. He looked at it, nodded and probably wondered what the hell Jim was doing in a payday loan office. After all, garages took deposits. No, the story had big holes in it. More seemed to be appearing by the minute.

“Okay, that will be fine. A week today then.”

Philip typed more numbers and ran a credit check which came out as “Excellent”. Jim couldn’t believe how well this was going, but he knew it wasn’t over yet.

“Would you like a coffee?” Philip stood up and pulled a strange vending machine key from his pocket. “It’s not that bad, honest. I know some vending coffee is, well, rank to say the least.”

“Yes please. Have you got tea?”

Again, Jim received that look when asking for tea. It was like he’d asked for a bag of crack or a syringe full of scag. Looking round while Philip went to the machine, Jim noticed the three CCTV cameras again. It was unavoidable. He’d tried hard to get the money without giving himself away, but as each day had passed the ante upped. When all this was over he’d head off to Wales or Cornwall, find himself somewhere to live, somewhere temporary to live, and maybe a seasonal job. After all, what was there for him in London?

His phone pinged. Charlotte.

What are you doing
tomorrow evening?
her message had said.

Nothing why? x
, he replied.

His head went into turmoil as Philip continued his checks. It still wasn’t too late to walk away from this. Sure, they had his picture but until the money was borrowed, and Raif was chased for it, no real crime had been committed. Doing this pretty much scuppered any chance of him staying in London. Realistically, he couldn’t have stayed in London anyway. Why was he doing this? Why was he getting to know Charlotte just so he could hurt himself and her even more?

Do you want to come to mine for dinner tom
evening? x

His heart leapt. Dinner at her place. Was that some London euphemism? Either way this was going from bad to worse, or was it getting better? The night before he was due to pay ten grand he didn’t have, the night when he should be robbing and stealing, she wanted to cook him dinner. If he accepted he’d be dead the next day.

There could only be one answer.

Yeah, I’d really like to. What
time? x

Philip nodded towards Jim’s phone. “How did we survive before them?”

Jim smiled. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Seven okay? x
she replied.

Fine x,
replied Jim.

Philip went back to sipping his coffee and checking the bank statement and driving licence. “My bank card’s in my other trousers,” Jim had told him, which he seemed to believe.

“That all seems fine. I’ll just print off a credit agreement, then the cars yours, so to speak.”

“Thanks,” said Jim. “She’ll be over the moon.”

The hotel seemed a lifetime away and every person looked like a mugger. Still, Jim knew that was the problem with having three grand in your pocket. He still couldn’t believe how easy it had been. He’d been so worried about there being some kind of alert on Raif’s name that he’d forgotten how little checks people actually do. All he’d shown them was a birth certificate, two bank statements and a false driving licence. He’d also written them a cheque for three thousand four hundred and eighty pounds, post-dated a week ahead. “If the cheque doesn’t clear,” Philip had said, “there will be charges, so keep us informed if anything doesn’t go to plan.”

Jim had assured him everything would be fine before he stuffed the wads of cash into his pockets.

Now on the street, all the cabs in London seemed to have disappeared. He thought of taking the tube, but what was the point? It was too big a risk to take. And for what? To save a tenner on cab fares? No, he’d get a cab. Assuming they weren’t on strike or anything.

Eventually hailing one, the driver was more than happy to go south of the river in return for payment. Jim did wonder at one point if he was just very good at sarcasm. If he was, he was too good for it to be of use.

Halfway across the bridge he stared out of the window mentally counting his dough. He thought he now had six plus the builder boy’s offer of another fifteen hundred. Jim hoped he wouldn’t have to use their money. They were good lads and he’d never see them again. Taking their money would be difficult. He wondered if they were actually expecting it back, but that wasn’t the point.

Two and a half or four left to get. Only just over halfway. And with a day left. He still had two iPods, an iPad and a few Raify bits. Five hundred tops for them. One and a half away.

As the cab stood still in heavy traffic, he wondered if he could keep his legs by offering them seven with another three next week. Of course it wouldn’t be three; it’d be upped to five.

Another week, though. Charlotte. He’d never met anyone like her. She was unique, he knew that. Maybe everyone in London was, but she was the only person he’d met. Thinking hard, he knew she was different to other Londoners. She didn’t have that closed off feel most had. She was friendly; she’d do anything to help.

“Maybe she’d lend me three grand?”

He caught the cabbie’s eyes in the mirror. Shrugging his shoulders, the cabbie returned his stare to the road. Jim shook his head and sighed.

Borrowing money from her wasn’t going to happen. How could he even ask? Just come out with it? No. Maybe he ought to do it by text. That seemed to be the London way. No, she was off limits.

Dressing into Raif’s best suit, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Every day this past week he’d aged another few years. His face drawn and eyes black-ringed, he reckoned in real terms he was approaching mid-forties. If this wasn’t sorted out this week he’d be drawing his pension by next Friday.

Raif’s suit fitted him well. He almost felt a new man whenever he wore it. It seemed to add a certain something. He wasn’t sure what that something was; maybe the sense of fitting in. However, he was using it to fit into places he’d no right to be in.

Leaving the hotel, he hailed another taxi and crawled across London to Leicester Square and his next port of call.

Jim had always liked the idea of it. Maybe it was the tension or the risks involved. Shifty Ted was to blame. The way he glamourised Monte Carlo and the life of luxury. It had left Jim in no doubt that one day, when he had enough money, he’d do it too.

The casino was under exaggerated on the outside. According to the cabbie they couldn’t advertise - it was against the law. The cabbie assured him this was a popular one with a good reputation. Jim wondered whether he was on a kickback. Everyone in London seemed to be.

There was a certain irony that Jim liked about spending Raif’s money, while wearing his clothes, in a casino. He was sure Raif would appreciate the irony once he got over the shock of having his life stolen from him. That, of course, was the other reason he was here. His own life might be robbed from him so why not experience more of it before then? He was under no illusion of turning the five hundred quid in his pockets to four grand, but at least it was ticking off something on his life to-do list.

Inside, the exaggeration turned full track from under to over. Marble pillars led the way upstairs to the main entrance. The air cool and fresh, Jim walked up the velvet carpet to the top and the front desk. An attractive Asian woman, possibly Japanese, asked him if she could take his suit jacket. The air seemed over conditioned so he refused.

“Have you visited us before, sir?” she asked

“No, err.” He shrugged his shoulders. Through the CCTV above his head, he reckoned they were already laughing at him, wondering how much he’d lose.

He listened and nodded as she politely explained how the casino worked. How to buy chips, minimum bets for each table, how to order drinks, she was very thorough. Though she’d obviously said the words a million times before, she’d recite them another million times before any hint of sarcasm or impoliteness crept into her voice.

“Thanks for your help.” He turned and walked through the bouncer-guarded double doors into the casino itself.

His first thought was of an upmarket fairground. In a way, he didn’t think it far from the truth. Coconut shies replaced by roulette wheels. Hoopla replaced by blackjack. Greasy hot dog vans replaced by a bar with restaurant attached. The roof overhead was partially mirrored making everything brighter and larger. A row of slot machines lined the walls each advertising thousands of pounds payouts. Turning round to get his bearings he eventually wandered to what resembled a post office counter, except it had glitzy tills and the biggest bouncer Jim had ever seen.

“Hello, sir, how can I help?”

Another attractive woman, this time Eastern European. Her English good, but with a slight twang on the h’s.

“Er, can I get some chips please?”

“Certainly, sir. Cash or card?”

Jim reached into his inside pocket. The bouncer’s eyes lit up, seeing and expecting all. Producing a bundle of notes, Jim laid them down. “Cash. Five hundred.” What had seemed like a big deal, and a big wedge of cash to him, hardly battered her eyelids. She placed the cash in an automatic counting machine before pressing buttons on a till which released a combination of red, blue and green chips, each marked with a figure. Pocketing them, Jim thanked her then went for a stroll.

Early evening, the casino was sparsely populated. A few suited men, possibly bankers, sipped cocktails and talked loudly about share options at the bar. One roulette table with two hapless but smiling gamblers was in operation, while the croupier at a blackjack table stood, arms folded, waiting for someone to relieve his boredom. Jim settled on helping him. The place wasn’t going to get busy for a few hours, but if he played it easy in the quiet he knew he’d look more of a pro when the crowds arrived.

According to his name badge the croupier was called Jason. Jim thought him a likeable and professional enough person. Playing slowly, with two hands, Jim bet barely above the minimum for half an hour. The tables and his luck turned regularly; at one point he was fifty up. By the end he was twenty down.

“Think I’ll get a bite to eat.”

The croupier nodded and thanked him.

Before eating he went to the roof terrace for a couple of cigarettes. The cocktail drinkers had moved outside, smoking cigars and discussing portfolios and Middle Eastern exposure. Standing at the balcony he watched the streets below. Cars still aimlessly going nowhere, people in a hurry to get somewhere and the odd beggar or
Big Issue
seller trying to make enough to get their mind off London for the night.

He sent Charlotte a message.
How was work today?

Okay thanks.
Still busy. Just going in shower x.

Sighing, Jim finished his fag and went to the restaurant.

Busier than he thought, it seemed most of the eaters were finishing their long dinners. Jim settled on the fillet steak. He’d never eaten fillet before and wondered just how it could be worth twice the price of other steak. Ordering a bottle of foreign lager to go with it, he sat alone watching others talk shop.

The fillet steak was twice as good as any steak he’d eaten. Ordering cheesecake for dessert, he couldn’t help but feel like a death row inmate eating his last meal. Whatever he wanted was his. His life’s dreams and wants served up in the next few hours.

Problem was, he didn’t know what his life’s dreams were. Life had been taken for granted. Ducking and diving all the way. Scraping from one disaster and prison cell to the next. What did he really want to do before he died? What made a life complete? Sighing again he paid the bill, adding a fiver tip, before heading back to the gaming floor.

The evening crowd were in. Most of them straight from a meal or a quick shower and change. Shifty Ted had told him of the three different types of casino crowd. There was the professionals - those that actually could beat the bank regularly enough to live from it. A dying breed, they drifted from casino to casino around the world, their luck on average never seeming to run out. Next, the fun lovers. People out for the evening with money burning in their pockets that would be the casino’s by the end of the night. Among these, city folk were spending their hard-earned bonuses. Big bets placed for show with little want or need of a successful outcome. Lastly, the first timers. People stunned by the glitz, glamour and air-conditioned luxury. Maybe these would join the first group of winners. More likely, they’d lose all and never come back.